To Catch Her Death (The Grim Reality Series Book 1) by Boone Brux Page B

list. After doing my business, I handed Dr. Jensen the cup. My stomach growled. I hoped we were finished. I got cranky if I went too long between meals. And after facing the harsh reality of my weight, I was definitely feeling a little grouchy. “Anything else?”
    “All finished.” She walked me to the outer office. “I’ll set up a time to examine and test your ankle. From there I can set up a rehab program. In the meantime, I suggest taping it.” She reached behind the desk and pulled out a promotional pamphlet. “You can get this at most sporting goods stores and there’s a website that shows you how to properly tape up a weak ankle.”
    “Roger that, doc.” I took the brochure and stomach grumbled again.
    At that moment Nate opened the door. I had to wonder if he’d been listening outside. “Finished?”
    “Yep.” I turned back to Candace. “Thanks again.”
    “You’re welcome. I’ll call you later this week,” she said.
    “Everything okay?” Nate sounded a little too hopeful; reminding me again that he thought I wouldn’t make a good reaper.
    “Just fine.” I brushed past him. “I’m starved.”
    Not waiting for him, I headed down the hall, not exactly sure how to find my way out of GRS’s inner sanctum. I can be stubborn and my determination to prove him wrong took hold. I’d show Nate Cramer that I had what it took to be a damn fine reaper—right after I refueled with a jumbo basket of parmesan garlic fries.

CHAPTER SEVEN

    Nate offered to buy me lunch and we ended up across the street at a restaurant I didn’t particularly love. Despite Dr. Jensen’s suggestion to eat better, I’m pretty picky about my food and craved something cheesy and unhealthy. But Nate was adamant, even after I recommended a nearby diner that made the best burgers in town. Control freak.
    I perused the menu. Greens, grains, and things I couldn’t pronounce dominated the list. I ordered a Santa Fe chicken salad with extra ranch and a Diet Coke. At least I recognized the ingredients. Nate ordered the Asian chicken salad without the mandarin oranges. What’s the point?
    I toyed with my wrapped set of silverware “So, what’s up with you and Willow? You guys have a nasty breakup or something?”
    “There’s nothing between me and Willow.” He tapped his finger impatiently on the table.
    Oh, there was definitely something between the two co-workers. “Huh.” I slowly peeled the wrapper from around the napkin. My innate curiosity wouldn’t let the subject drop. “It sure looked like there was some history?” He didn’t reply. I glanced up. He was staring at a spot behind me. The joke was on him. I was immune to the silent treatment. I had a teenager. “Why do you hate her?”
    His eyes drifted back to me. “I don’t trust her.”
    “Because she’s a beautiful, independent woman?” Nate didn’t strike me as the type to be threatened by a successful woman. And I didn’t know if his opinion about me not making a good reaper was personal or a blanket judgment about women.
    “The reason I don’t trust her is none of your business.” He glanced behind me again, narrowing his gaze. “But I suggest you keep your distance from her. She’s bad news.”
    “Right.” Sure sounded like sour grapes. When he didn’t meet my eyes, I followed his gaze. “What are you looking at?”
    “Nothing.”
    I craned my neck and noticed two men sitting at a table across the restaurant. They appeared normal—really normal. As a matter of fact, if Nate hadn’t clued me in, I wouldn’t have noticed them. “Do you know those two?”
    “In a sense.” His eyes shifted to me. “They’re our competitors.”
    “Reapers have competitors?” Chancing another look, I assessed them. Both men appeared benign. One caught my eye and lifted his drink in silent acknowledgment. I smiled and turned back to Nate. “What kind of competitors?”
    “Angels.”
    My mouth dropped open. “Are you serious?”
    “Unfortunately,